


a litany of prettiness and pettiness, too

by shinealightonme



Series: every second second we come up with something new [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, these boys are still idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: "I certainly didn't mean this.""You didn't specify."





	a litany of prettiness and pettiness, too

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly had not realized that I'd set myself up for a sequel, so this is dedicated to the readers who pointed out that obvious-in-hindsight fact.

A cold goes around Henrietta that spring. Gansey gets it and whines so much that you'd think he was dying a third time. Sargent gets it, and anywhere she sits for more than a second accumulates a pile of used tissues taller than she is. Cheng gets it and loses his voice, which ought to be a blessing from the Virgin Mary except he _keeps talking anyway_ , croaks his way through conversations like he's a word shark and if he stops talking for one single second he'll die, which would be _such a tragedy_.

Adam is actually the first to catch the cold, and long after everyone else is feeling better he's still coughing and sneezing and stumbling around like an extra in a plague movie. Ronan force-feeds him children's vitamins and bullies him into drinking a gallon of tea a day and doesn't suggest that maybe it would help his recovery to take even a single fucking shift off of work, since it would really not help his recovery to try to kick Ronan's ass.

"This sucks." Adam has his eyes shut, tissue pressed against his face like he's given up on moving it away between sneezes. "I'm ready to be better now."

Ronan sets down the dish he's carrying. "Did that work?"

"No, and I swear to God if that's another bowl of chicken soup -- "

"It's not."

Adam opens his eyes. It's two bowls of chicken soup.

"You think you're so funny," he mutters darkly, and starts eating the soup anyway, because he hates wasting food. "Just wait, you're going to catch this cold and I'm going to laugh."

"I'm too tough to get sick."

Adam starts to say something to that but just sneezes instead.

They had, before the cold, had plans for the night. Or at least for how it was going to end.

As it is, Adam falls asleep on Ronan's shoulder on the couch at eight o'clock at night like they're fucking empty-nest parents worn out from a long day of spicing up their marriage and watching the local news. His face is still tired and worried in sleep. Ronan isn't heartless enough to wake him up, even when he gets snot all over his shirt. And he's definitely not going to wake him up just for sex, because, well, he's getting snot all over his shirt. It's not really a turn on.

It wouldn't normally be a problem for Ronan. Being able to touch Adam is the most important thing; _what_ that touching entails is a distant second.

It's only a problem for Ronan because he promised his extremely goal-oriented boyfriend that he'd fuck him, and the longer they have to wait the longer Adam has to live with something on his to-do list that he can't cross off. Anything that makes Adam unhappy is a problem for Ronan, all the more so if he's the one that caused it.

Adam stirs, blinks awake looking even more exhausted than he had before he'd fallen asleep. "I should go."

"If you try to drive right now you're going to crash."

Adam rubs at his bleary eyes. "I'll sleep out here on the couch."

"Stop being an idiot."

"I don't want to get you sick."

Ronan turns his eyes pointedly at the wet spot on his shirt. "Bit late to worry about that."

Adam doesn't say anything smart about how gross Ronan is or how Ronan is the real sick one or anything, you know, actually smart. He just looks miserable, so Ronan leans forward and kisses him just below his deaf ear: _no more talking about this_.

"I told you. I'm too strong to get sick."

Adam shuts his eyes and nods, once, and lets Ronan lead him to the bedroom. They don't fuck. Adam falls asleep again almost immediately. Ronan curls up around him, legs tangled together, one arm wrapped around him, listening to his stuffed-nose snoring, and feels disgustingly happy. He turns his face into the back of Adam's neck, grateful no one can see him.

Adam's cold stretches out for three weeks, and then there's finally a day where he's feeling better _and_ has the next night free from work. It's the very same day that Ronan wakes up with his throat on fire.

Maybe letting his germ-riddled boyfriend sleep on top of him wasn't such a great idea.

"I can't believe I'm getting cockblocked by bacteria," Ronan grumbles. _Fuck night_ has become, yet again, _soup and chaste cuddling night,_ which he has a lot less patience for when he's the one who's had a cheese grater scraped over his larynx.

"You're not. The cold is a virus."

"Whose side are you on?"

Adam looks intrigued. "Is being on the virus's side an option?"

Ronan settles into Adam's lap and feels immediately, annoyingly better. Sex is fun, sex is amazing, but if he could only ever have this or sex he would choose this, burrowing his head in Adam's thigh and feeling Adam run a hand over his scalp while he tells him he would absolutely betray him to gain immunity to viruses.

He tries to take half as good care of himself as he'd take of Adam, but tea tastes like ass, and no matter how hard he tries to fall asleep at a decent hour, he can't, even when he literally can't keep his eyelids open. He just lies in bed with his eyes shut hating everything, unless Adam is sleeping over; then he lies in bed with his eyes shut hating everything except Adam's body heat radiating through him.

Getting better isn't a sudden revelation like getting sick is. It occurs to him one day that his eyes don't hurt anymore, and then that he doesn't have a headache, and then that he can actually breathe.

The morning that he skips the ass-tea and shotguns a soda and doesn't even regret it a second later he figures, this is it.

Except it isn't, of course, because Adam's working until midnight and has an exam in the morning. It's like the universe doesn't _want_ him to have anal sex.

It's two more nights before Adam drives out to the Barns with no plans to be anywhere else until the next day. The sun's already set when Ronan hears the crunch of gravel under car wheels, and he's out in the driveway before Adam's out of the car.

Adam laughs as Ronan backs him up against the side of the car, cutting him off with a kiss.

"I take it -- you're feeling -- better -- "

"Mm-hm." Ronan slides his hands up Adam's shirt, strokes his thumbs over the muscles in his stomach and feels them go tight. "Inside."

"I'd love to," Adam says. "Only you're in my way."

"Mm." Why is that a problem? That's not a problem. Ronan slides his hands further, one to Adam's back to pull them closer together, the other down to grip his ass.

"Seriously, Ronan." Adam pushes his face away, so Ronan licks his ear. A shudder runs through Adam's body, reverberates through Ronan. "Take me inside and then you can do whatever you want to me, okay?"

Ronan figures in about thirty seconds he could negotiate Adam down to _you can do whatever you want to me anywhere_ , but it is a very minor concession. He can be reasonable.

He hooks his fingers through the belt loops on Adam's pants and pulls him into the house, hips first and laughing, and as soon as they're inside he pushes him up against the first flat surface he finds.

"When I said _inside_ , I meant the bedroom." Adam hides his face against Ronan's neck so Ronan cannot kiss him. Ronan gets back at him but pushing a thigh between his legs. "I certainly didn't mean this."

"You didn't specify."

Adam rests the back of his head against the wall, very deliberately not pushing against Ronan's leg. "If you wanted to fuck me in the hall, you should have brought the lube with you. _Do_ you have it with you?"

Ronan thinks. "Shit."

Adam noses at his ear. "See, this is why you need me, to think ahead."

"That's not why I need you," he mutters.

Adam brushes the palm of his hand against Ronan's cheek, turns his face up.

Ronan swallows. It's suddenly very hard to look Adam in the eye, but all the more important for it.

_I need you to save me, I need you to make fun of me, I need you to keep me patient when I flip out on Opal, I need you to remind me who I am --_

Adam leans forward and kisses him, slow and closed mouth and very sweet, and then he takes Ronan's hand in his and leads him down the hall to the bedroom.

They sprawl out on the bed next to each other, making out and running hands over each other. Ronan gets a hand in Adam's pants, touching him everywhere but his cock. Adam pushes Ronan's shirt up, "come on, help me out, I want to see your chest -- "

"I thought you liked my arms best."

"I like whatever part of you I'm looking at best."

"Wow. Parrish, that's super gay."

Adam snorts with laughter, falls back on the bed and covers his face with one hand to pretend he didn't just make that gross noise.

"Sorry I can't just have an inexplicable fetish like you do."

Ronan licks the back of Adam's hand.

Adam moves his hand, quick as a flash, off of his mouth and around to the back of Ronan's head to keep him from escaping while he kisses him.

Ronan figures that's devious enough to deserve a reward. When Adam lets him go he sits up, shucks off his shirt, and -- fair's fair -- pulls Adam's pants off.

Adam looks up at him slowly, smirk growing across his face, cock pushing up against his briefs.

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" he asks.

Ronan puts his knees on the bed by Adam's hip, places the fingers of one hand on the opposite hip.

"Why," he drawls, "you have something in mind?"

Adam shuts his eyes and turns his head up, leaving his mouth, his neck, his whole body open for Ronan.

Ronan lowers his lips --

\-- and hears the crunch of gravel under car wheels.

He snaps back upright. Adam sits up and grabs at his wrist.

His eyes go straight toward the window, but they're on the wrong side of the house to see the driveway, even if the curtains weren't drawn.

He looks down at Adam, silent.

_Were you expecting anyone -- No -- Could be danger -- No shit, Parrish._

Ronan stands up in one liquid movement and pulls his shirt over his head. Stalks out the hallway on silent feet, holding his breath. The light in the kitchen is on, and he crouches low, turns around the corner -- 

And sees Declan, standing at the counter and munching on an apple.

Ronan reconsiders the merits of having a dead body in his house tonight.

He turns to signal to Adam that everything is safe and -- is that a _knife_? Adam threw his pants back on and grabbed a knife to come armed to confront their intruder, fuck, Ronan loves him so much.

"What the hell, Declan."

He doesn't even look up. What a fuckhole.

"So, apparently Matthew is sick."

Ronan had thought he was on the alert before. Shows what the fuck he knows.

" _What_?"

"He has a _cold_ ," like Declan has any fucking right to sound that sarcastic when he's the one who put Ronan on high alert in the first place. "Which wouldn't necessitate my presence, except it made the office realize they didn't have his medical records. I like to minimize the chances of anyone poking around in our unnatural brother's medical history."

Ronan wonders if the cold has made it to DC yet. Maybe some of Sargent's Snot Tissue Mountain is still kicking around.

"I don't have any medical records," he says.

"Nor did I expect you to." Declan rolls his eyes in a way that might have been devastating if Ronan hadn't seen it eight times a day for the last eighteen years. "I took care of it."

"And?"

"And, I have one brother who has three empty bedrooms and one brother who sleeps in a dorm, I figured you were better positioned to put me up for the night."

It's not like he can say, _Matthew isn't trying to get laid_ \--

\-- oh, God, does Matthew get laid? Who with? Can Ronan go scare the crap out of them?

Not the point. He's got his other stupid brother to deal with.

"Yeah, well, I thought you were a hitman," Ronan grouses. "Call ahead next time."

Declan just stares at him, wordless.

Ronan scowls and stomps off.

When he gets back to the bedroom Adam is standing by the bed, facing away from the door.

It takes a half a second for Adam to turn his head, and Ronan can tell; he isn't going to _say_ that he's disappointed, but it's in that bitter, sharp smile that's crossing half of his face.

Ronan places the palms of both hands on Adam's cheeks and pulls him in to kiss that expression off of his face. By the time he breaks away Adam has gone rueful, laughing at himself, which is something, but not everything. It's not enough for what Ronan wants to give to Adam.

He knocks that self-deprecating look off Adam's face with his kisses, moves beyond _consolation_ to general excitement, and just as he forgets why he can't get carried away they're interrupted by a sound of the door shutting in the next room over.

Adam breaks away. He's breathing heavily, but his voice comes out even as he says, "Oh, hell, what's one more night."

Ronan thinks about how long Adam has been waiting, about the fact that Adam had been ready just minutes before to knife someone in the hallway on Ronan's behalf, about the fact that Adam had been ready, minutes before that, to let Ronan fuck him in the hallway.

Ronan asks, "Are you trying to make me a liar?"

Adam pulls away from him, blinking in surprise. "Ronan, your brother is in the next room."

Ronan leans forward and whispers, right into his good ear, "So you'll have to be quiet."

Adam sucks in a lungful of air, hard and fast. He stares at Ronan with a look like he's calculating something, and then there comes the moment that Ronan loves -- not when Adam finds the answer, but when he says, _screw it, I don't care what the answer is_.

Adam grabs two fistfuls of Ronan's shirt and hauls him forward to kiss him -- like they weren't close enough already. Ronan is all in favor of getting as close to Adam as possible, but he's also in favor of fucking with Adam a bit, so he pushes him off and takes a step back, looks him up and down like all he has in mind is a little visual appreciation.

"God, Lynch, you're annoying." Adam's cheeks go pink and he sits on the edge of the bed, just as a wicked, terrible, wonderful thought seizes Ronan.

"Wait," he says, and Adam looks surprised, "get up," and Adam stands back up without fighting Ronan on it. His excitement must be showing. God, this is such a stupid idea, it's going to be amazing.

Ronan grabs the lube out of the nightstand and tosses it across the room onto his desk.

The desk that's up against the wall his room shares with Declan's.

Adam's still standing in the middle of the room, like he hasn't understood -- or no. Ronan takes in the look on his face. He understands perfectly, and he wants Ronan to force him into it, to shove him up against that wall.

Ronan is more than happy to.

He stalks up to Adam, right up into his space, places both hands on his chest. Pushes him again, firm and constant instead of fast, guides Adam's feet back -- back further -- until his heels hit the wall.

There's nowhere left to go.

Adam keep his expression neutral, but his heart is pounding away, hard and fast. Ronan tugs down the neck of Adam's shirt and kisses his chest, just above that heartbeat.

Adam says, "oh," in a tiny voice that breaks Ronan to hear it. Because after all of their time together, sometimes Adam still sounds so goddamn confused by tenderness.

Ronan says, "quiet," and takes hold of Adam's shoulder to turn him until he's facing the wall.

Adam's on board immediately, hands up against the wall to brace himself. Ronan noses at his hair, breathes in the scent of Adam's store brand shampoo, and then he drops a hand down to stroke Adam's cock through his pants.

It's really impressive how much Adam is able to writhe, despite being trapped between the wall and Ronan. Ronan strokes him again, and a third time, enjoying the feeling of Adam's body moving without thought.

He slides his hands higher, up to Adam's waist, slides them under his shirt and inches it up. Adam tries to push away from the wall, to hurry along the process, but Ronan leans into him, heavy and solid and hard, and makes him wait. Unexpected bright side to their interruption: he gets to undress his boyfriend _twice_.

Adam gets his revenge, though, works his hips until -- _fuck_ \-- he's grinding his ass against Ronan's dick. Ronan rests his face against the back of Adam's neck, kissing the skin there in a lazy absent sort of way, and lets himself enjoy that sensation for the time that it takes him to get Adam's shirt the rest of the way up. He has put a little distance between them to get it over Adam's head, and he uses the opportunity to pull his own shirt off and to grab the lube off the desk.

Adam's bare shoulders raise, tight with tension: excitement, nerves, impatience, probably all of them at once.

Ronan reaches around him, careful to only touch the waistband of his pants, and unbuttons his jeans, pulls the fly down.

Adam shivers, but it's a small gesture, contained, like he's conserving his reactions for the main event. That's no fun. Ronan licks his ear, runs his tongue over the rim of it before sticking it in deep, and smirks when that makes Adam spasm.

At the same time, his hands are working, opening the lube and spreading it on his finger.

"Last chance," Ronan murmurs.

"Last -- what? For what?" It's incredible to hear Adam sound that dazed and out of sorts, to know that he's the one who caused it.

"To change your mind."

Adam sighs, _exasperation_ a familiar enough emotion to quickly work its way through the fog of lust. "At what part of this process have I seemed _indecisive_ to you?"

Ronan slides a hand down the back of his pants and runs his lubed fingers lightly over Adam's asshole.

Adam's entire body jerks like he'd just been electrocuted.

"Oh, never," Ronan says, fake innocent. "But I wanted to hear you say it, _Lynch, I want you to fuck me._ "

He's running his finger over Adam's hole the entire time, his other hand pressed flat against Adam's belly to feel every twitch and tremble.

Adam pants. "Lynch -- "

Ronan waits. Presses the pad of one finger against Adam, not enough to penetrate, just enough to suggest it.

"Can you say it?"

He doesn't think he's going to get any answer, and then Adam forces out, "Not -- quietly," and fuck, that's even better than begging him for it. That definitely deserves something in return, so Ronan slides his hand over from Adam's stomach to his hip and grips him tight as he slides his finger inside.

Adam pushes back immediately, desperate for as much as he can take from Ronan, biting his lip to keep silent. Ronan fingers him as hard and fast and dirty as he can, licking his neck and kissing his jaw and running his nose along his hairline, where he's starting to sweat.

Ronan can't stop thinking about what it means that Adam is _here_ , not just in Ronan's hands but pressed up against the wall to Declan's room. Thinks about how he said _I'm going to make a bad decision_ and Adam said _no, we're going to make a bad decision_. Thinks about the fact that Adam has walked by his side along paths dark and dangerous and dumb and never wavered.

Ronan pulls his fingers out of Adam and grabs for the lube, but he's so fucking keyed up he drops it and then has to try three times before he can get it open. Adam doesn't even make fun of him for it, which tells Ronan how keyed up Adam is, too, like he couldn't have figured that out already.

He gets what he hopes is enough lube on his dick, spreads some more of Adam just to be safe. He can tell that Adam's expecting him to take forever, tease him about it, so he presses the head of his cock to Adam's hole and just sticks it in all in one go.

Adam gasps, clenches his hands into fists, digs his nails into the skin of his palms.

"Hey," Ronan murmurs, kissing his ear, "none of that." He puts a hand over Adam's fist, smooths it out, runs his thumb over the palm of his hand, because Adam can do anything, anything, to Ronan, but he doesn't get to hurt himself.

Adam breathes deeply, twice, and then nods.

Ronan moves his hips carefully, tiny thrusts deep inside of Adam. He remembers how good that had felt when Adam had done that for him, and it helps, to have a clue while he's still figuring out how they fit together -- because they do, they always do, just sometimes it's not as obvious.

Adam breathes in again, fast, and rests his forehead against the wall.

Ronan pulls out, further this time, experimental.

Adam turns his head, like he's half-shaking it, _no_ , and Ronan pushes in again, trusts him to say if he's in pain.

What Adam actually says is, _Ronan_ , barely a word, inarticulate except Ronan knows exactly the shape that his name makes on Adam's lips.

"Ronan," Adam breathes out, "Ronan, Ronan," a little louder each time, and he is not going to be able to keep quiet at all.

Right this second Ronan doesn't give a fuck if the Pope can hear them all the way in the Vatican, but he knows that Adam would be mortified, so he reaches around Adam with one arm and covers his mouth with his hand.

Adam groans, barely perceptible, and pushes back onto his cock.

Ronan thrusts into him again, harder, harder still when he finds the right distance to pull Adam's hips away from the wall. And all the time Adam is gasping and moaning and choking on Ronan's hand, for Ronan's ears only. Ronan stops worrying that he'll hurt Adam; Adam is fine, Adam is _amazing_. If anyone is in pain it's Ronan, because he wants to hear Adam saying his name like that, like language has been erased and that's the only word left to him.

Ronan pulls his arm in, pulls Adam's back up against him, until he can feel every noise Adam is making against his chest and against his hand. It doesn't give him a great angle, makes his thrusts shallow, but Adam is still making those euphoric sounds, twice-felt and barely heard.

Ronan reaches his other hand down, curls it around Adam's cock. Doesn't stroke him, but leaves his fingers loose enough that the motion of his hips pushes Adam in and out of his hand.

Adam's muscles go tight all over; in his back against Ronan's chest, his chest under Ronan's arm, his thighs against Ronan's thighs. His fingers spread out wide against the wall and he shifts his feet, trying to brace himself. His unspoken cries goes higher and higher pitched, and Ronan doesn't need to hear the words he's smothering to know what they are: _please, please, finish me_.

Ronan presses his mouth to Adam's neck, a sloppy open kiss, and he tightens his grip around Adam's cock, firm pressure running the whole length of his shaft.

Adam only whines higher, _please, please \--_

Ronan doesn't know if it's a coping mechanism or some other psychological bullshit or if this is just how Adam is; he knows that Adam is embarrassed about it, but he doesn't mind. If his boyfriend sometimes needs an edge of pain in his pleasure before he can get off, Ronan will do that for him, will hurt him just enough so he never has to hurt himself.

Ronan drops his mouth lower, to the curve where Adam's neck meets his shoulder, and bites down as hard as he can.

Adam jerks his head back, his hips moving fast and erratic, and he's already coming by the time that Ronan shoves inside him one last time, deep, and holds him there.

It's a while before Adam catches his breath. He might have been able to do it faster if Ronan hadn't still been covering his mouth and giving his cock the occasional slow gentle stroke, but what would the fun in that be?

Eventually he decides he wants to kiss Adam, so he drops his arm from wrapping around his chest to wrapping around his waist, runs his lips along Adam's jaw until Adam turns his head enough that he can just barely kiss the corner of his mouth.

"You didn't finish," Adam points out.

Ronan's not worried about it; he's still hard, he's still in Adam, Adam's still naked and amazing, this will work itself out. "I don't care."

"I care. You're making me look bad."

"News flash, Parrish, no one's watching."

Adam sighs, and that's probably supposed to sound like his _God, my boyfriend is an idiot_ sigh. He doesn't pull it off.

Ronan thinks about it for a second and realizes that he is making his goal-oriented, perfectionist boyfriend look bad _to himself_ , and maybe Adam can stand thinking he's selfish and undesirable, but Ronan can't.

He pulls out -- not carefully enough, apparently, " _Jesus_ " -- and turns Adam so that his back is against the wall, so that he's facing Ronan, so that Ronan can kiss him as thoroughly as he wants to.

Kissing Adam, being kissed by Adam, trapping their breath and their voices and their life between them -- it reminds Ronan of stepping between two mirrors that face each other, getting stretched out into infinity, desire reflected back on desire, Adam wanting Ronan wanting Adam wanting Ronan. The edge has burned off of Adam's need, but that just means that Ronan can see clearly how deep it runs, and it leaves him feeling humble. It feels like grace, like knowing that there's nothing he could ever do to deserve this love but he gets to keep it anyway.

He reaches for Adam's thigh, lifts his leg up, needing access. Adam squirms and wiggles against him in a way that is probably supposed to be helpful and isn't, but feels so good either way that Ronan can't complain.

He works his cock back inside Adam, holds him up against the wall. They're both so close to giving the game away, now; Adam will gasp, or Ronan will groan, and the other one will rush to lean forward and press their mouths together, mute the sound. Ronan will think that he could kiss Adam forever, and then he'll change his mind, _no, I want to see, have to see,_ and then he'll look into Adam's eyes and start to say something sappy, and Adam will save him from himself with a kiss.

Adam has already saved him so many times. Adam has already kissed him so many times, and they still have so much kisses left, so many more stupid risks to take, and Ronan pins Adam's hips to the wall and comes, deep inside of him.

"God, Lynch," Adam says, running a palm over his cheek, "you have to do everything so _much_ , don't you?" and his voice is so fond that Ronan has no choice but to pick him up and dump him on the bed.

Ronan climbs into bed to cuddle up beside him -- well, first Adam kicks him out to go to the kitchen and get him a glass of water, because "that was a _workout_ , Jesus, and we were just sick, we need fluids," and Ronan's suggestion of what fluids he could ingest only gets a flat and unimpressed, "water, now" -- but after that they cuddle up together and Ronan drinks in the knowledge of Adam's presence and listens to his heartbeat, impossibly loud in the still quiet room.

Declan's up before either of them the next day, drinking coffee when they stumble out into the kitchen for breakfast.

To Adam's credit, probably no one besides Ronan would have realized how nervous he actually is when he says "good morning".

"Good morning, Ronan, Parrish," Declan responds. "I didn't realizes you were here."

Ronan can already see Adam obsessing over that, _what if he did hear us last night and this is a passive aggressive mind game -- _

So he says, "yeah, Parrish came last night," and now Adam is too busy glaring at him to care what Declan thinks he knows

Ronan smiles back at him. Adam turns away with a huff, but not before Ronan can see him starting to grin. Behind him, Declan sneezes.

It is a good morning, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic you can [reblog it on tumblr](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/174536453485/a-litany-of-prettiness-and-pettiness-too).


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